Sau and Denu in Sau'win
by Mardy Lass
Summary: Spoilers for episode 4x22. Sam needs to come to terms with all that has transpired in the last few years, culminating in his greatest mistake. With Dean seemingly more distant than ever, perhaps it’s time that Sam learns the true meaning of Hallowe’en.
1. Parte The Firste: Aardvark

"**Sau and Denu in Sau'win"**

Dear Mr Kripke,

Your Hallowe'en gaff; I fixed it for you.

(Rated K+ through sheer lack of blood, gore, salty language or fisticuffs.)

.

* * *

.

**Parte The Firste: Aardvark**

**'**_**In The Beginning**_**' was the word, and the word was…**

.

.

The hurtling, howling mass of wind and matter swirled around him. It pulled at his hair as if it were the obnoxious child sat behind him in math class, pushing and buffeting his tall frame with ease. Sam raised his hands, trying to protect his face, his head - _anything_ - from the powerful force.

All in vain. His arms sliced through the mist and whirling gas without leaving so much as a parting to show they had been there. The swathes he imagined he saw sealed up faster than a DHL courier packet and he knew he was stuck.

Stuck in nothingness, imprisoned by something so strong, so omnipotent but ultimately, formless. The sound repeated over and over until he almost made out syllables. But no limbs presented themselves, no creature or monster conveniently poked its head out, ready to be shot. There was nothing but shapeless, seamless air and motion, hammering at him mercilessly.

He flailed at it as best he could, hoping to ward off some of the effects. Something solid slammed into the whole length of his front. Momentarily elated to feel something tangible, the pain and smarting soon judged this a Pyrrhic victory based upon the testimonies of the various joints and bones that had been less than flush as he had hurtled into the unforgiving shape.

His eyes popped open. He heard his own panicked breathing, saw something large and brown and… dusty and…

"Crap," Sam cursed, realising he was on the floor of a motel room, face down with his arms above his head. He pushed himself up and over to sit, looking around.

There was a snort and a rumble, and for one fleeting nano-second Sam feared a bear had somehow become trapped in the room. Then he recognised the image of the bear as nothing more than a painting on the wall - and the sound simply that of his slumbering brother.

He bought a ticket and leapt on the tramcar to his feet, dusting himself off and checking he was all there. He looked at his bed, with its twisted up sheets and cool interior, and sighed the great huff of the unjust. He climbed back into bed, put his hands behind his head, and thought back over the odd dream.

In the black movie theatre of his mind, on the huge flickering screen in two foot letters, were the subtitles: ACT ONE: SAM WINCHESTER CLEARLY NEEDS MORE SLEEP.

He turned on his side. He claimed what was rightfully his.

but

then

there

was

"C'mon, Sammy, rise and shine!" Dean bellowed, putting his hand to the bed next to his brother's head and shaking without mercy.

Sam's head worked like a Universal Studios head bobbler of Dracula and he was instantly awake. He opened his eyes and spotted the back of his brother, wrapped only in a towel, and wiped at his own face hurriedly. He sat up with a spurt of energy, surveying the room quickly.

"Dean?" he called, even as the bathroom door was closing.

"Don't start," Dean's voice called back. "I tried to wake you like a hundred times, man. What the hell did you drink last night?"

Sam blinked, rubbing his face. "I didn't."

"Just lucky then," Dean called, the sound of taps and toothbrushes obscuring his words from behind the door.

Sam slid out of bed and looked around. "I had this - this nightmare," he admitted.

The bathroom door opened and Dean, still clad only in a fluffy white towel from the waist down, looked at him.

"Dare I ask?" he grinned, the toothbrush still multi-tasking, at once scrubbing and obscuring.

"Uh - well… It was like I was trapped in… wind," Sam shrugged.

Dean's hand currently in charge of the toothbrush shift clocked off momentarily for a break. "Come again?"

"Wind. Like… I was being blown about and I couldn't do anything about it," Sam said with a marked lack of confidence.

Dean blinked at his sibling - just blinked. Then his features took on the serious look of thoughtfulness that Sam often felt was incongruous on his brother's face.

"That's nothing," Dean informed him, "I had this really assed-out dream the other night. It was like 1955, and I was in this diner sitting next to Dad, right? 'Cept I didn't know it was him yet? And then this big dude comes in and sees us and calls out--"

"That was _Back To The Future_," Sam interrupted thoughtfully.

"Oh." Dean looked deflated. "Well like I said, it was some weird crap. God knows what I had been drinking _that_ night."

"Yeah - um - great," Sam shrugged. "So anyway… this wind, it was talking."

Dean's face broke into the most childish smile Sam had ever witnessed. "Nuh-uh, that's just what you call it in polite company."

Sam felt the breath of fury, the carbonated indignation rise up from beyond his ribcage. Untold leagues of air, unimaginable amounts of frustration and despair were smashed together, fashioned into the largest, most terrible amalgamation of might and emotion no human had ever witnessed before. It fought its way out from the young man, making its desperate bid for the wide open space of real air, of utopian room it could dream about but not yet entirely fathom without proof.

Sam huffed.

Dean, completely oblivious to the landmark of physics and personal accomplishment to which his brother had just been a party, simply turned back to the bathroom sink and spat out the faithful toothpaste. He picked up a glass, filling it and rinsing his teeth. That water went the same way as the toothpaste that had outlived its usefulness and Dean set the glass down, looking for a towel.

He pressed it to the lower half of his face, realised Sam was still looking at him, and turned back to him.

"What?"

Sam was looking about as troubled as a girl in a shoe shop two days before pay day, studying something that appeared to occupy the same space as his elder brother's head.

Dean snapped his fingers at him. "Hello? Sammy? What?"

Sam's head bounced slightly. "Uh… nothing," he said faintly. "Nothing."

"Okie dokie. Well I'm just about done here so you get your ass in gear and get showered." Dean moved all his washroom bits and pieces to one side of the bathroom counter, leaving the smallest room. He walked past his brother and back to his own bed. "You stink," he added helpfully.

Sam nodded dumbly and went into the bathroom, closing the door.

Dean's cheerful smile fell like a twenty stone sumo wrestler as he considered the door. Then he sighed, shook his head, and picked up his duffle, upending it to reveal the day's underwear choices. Exciting as the quandary between white and grey Calvin's was, he made an executive decision to go with grey.

It was shaping up to be that kind of day, after all.

because

later

that

day

(using

the

widely

accepted

'_sun is in the sky_'

method)

Sam was leaning on the rear wing of the Impala, ostensibly holding the petrol nozzle in place but actually daydreaming. In amongst the images of winged lollipops and fearsome, sharp-toothed candy canes with bite radiuses that would put a _carcharodon carcharias_ auditioning for Jaws to shame, the whispered sound of the dream came in breathy reminders every few moments.

He jumped, paying more attention to what he was doing and making an effort not to spill petroleum on his person. Although these days he understood he was losing grasp of the whole Dr P. Venkman scale of Good and Bad, he still had enough of a connection to real-time Earth to understand that free-running hydrocarbon-based products covering flammable material was quite the white-suited Al Pacino with a machine gun.

He stopped the pump, placing it carefully back in the housing and closing up the filler cap, squeaking the wee door closed and looking around to the shop. He spotted his brother's sandy coloured head as he apparently leant over the counter, the current object of his attention a cheeky looking brunette with a winning smile.

"And an impressive rack," he muttered before he could stop himself. Blinking at his own crassness, he opened the passenger door and got back in the car.

A shadow fell over the bonnet and slid up, covering his open window. He looked up to see the station attendant watching him, his face blank.

"Oh, we're good, thanks," Sam said cheerfully.

"_Saaaaauuuuuu…_"

_Time - there. There - no. Melting downwards. Not meeting the edges. Stretching - stretching. Heat - heat? Cooling now. Dripping - up? Up. Time is back? Time is back. _We have Time. Houston - we have Time!

Say again - Sam, can you read us? Say again!

_We have Time._

A shock and jolt.

_A black car. The Sau sitting in the car. The whisper of The Sau's dream echoing past his head. The Sau's creeping fear at the possibility of the nightmare's return. _

Sam shook his head, determined to free it from the foggy mire currently surrounding him. He looked up at the unremarkable young man watching him.

"What?" Sam dared.

The man was smiling now. "That's good. You have a good day now, y'hear?" he nodded, turning away from the Impala.

Sam stuck his head out of the window, watching the young lad cross the forecourt to attend to a young woman with rowdy young children in the back of a large blue SUV. He stared, then collected his attention and sat back, thinking back over the craziness of his afternoon and the word he thought he had heard.

A squeak and a joggle interrupted him and he looked to his left to find Dean in the car. The elder Winchester pulled the door shut, tossing some kind of plastic foil-lined packet of snack food at his younger brother.

"There. Don't say I never give you nuthin'," Dean nodded. He leaned forward and started the car. He paused, spying Sam's open mouth. "Dude. Fly patrol. Quit it."

Sam didn't move. Dean reached over and the back of his hand slapped harshly at the underside of Sam's chin. Sam's mouth shot closed and he jumped, flapping limp hands at his elder brother to get him out of his personal space.

Dean just chuckled and pulled the old girl away from the pump, checking the traffic before hitting the road.

"So what's with that face?" he asked directly, settling into the seat.

"What?"

"Your. Face. You know, the fleshy thing attached to the front of your head?" Dean teased. His own cheerful face began to lose coherence and he ended up frowning at the look of absolute concentration on Sam's features. "Ok. What?"

"What?"

"What 'what'?" Dean countered. "What are you thinking about? All day all you've done is sit there with your mouth hanging open. It's freaking me out. Explain the mouth hanging open."

Sam pouted and rested his elbow on the window block, watching the countryside fly by.

"You know I had that weird dream last night?" he ventured. Dean simply waited. "Well I thought the wind was talking to me. Then that guy at the gas station… everything went weird for a minute and I think - I think he was saying the same word that the wind said."

"So what, you're being haunted by wind?" Dean guessed. "I thought that only happened after you ate half a burrito?"

"Dean," Sam tutted, shaking his head slowly. "I think something is trying to tell me something."

"Yeah, I thought something was trying to tell _me_ something once - turns out it was just Mexican take-out telling me not to do absinthe after spicy tacos."

"You know, you're really annoying," Sam accused, his voice wedged high in the top end of his scale with his conviction.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah really."

"Then stop pissing on my sunny day, dude. I got a full tank of gas, I got chips in the glovebox, beer in the trunk, AC/DC in the radio and a pain in the ass brother bitchin' about _dreams_, of all things. Now shut your cakehole, _shotgun_. It's a hundred and forty-two miles to Kansas. And no, Dorothy, we are _not_ stopping to pee." Dean leaned back, squirmed in the seat to get comfortable, and let out a long, relaxing breath.

Sam turned and regarded him for a long moment. When it was plain Dean had about as much interest in his sibling as he did in one hundred and one excellent reasons to own a goat, Sam gave up and twisted the other way, to look out of his open window with the kind of resolution that comes to school children in times of parental law.

"Fine," he muttered.

Dean leaned forward and turned up the radio slightly, grinning merrily, eyebrows raised in delight, as the opening strains to _Rock n' Roll Train_ filled the car. He took a deep breath and settled into the seat with complete and utter contentment.

"See? Day's better already," Dean asserted.

And then, in a tone of voice that no more new of its impending foot-shooting than an innocent bolt realises it's about to seal the casing on a nuclear warhead, Dean uttered the most frightfully ominous and probably fate-tempting sentence he could possibly have engineered, had he even known he was doing it:

"Yup. Nuthin's gonna spoil _my_ day."

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* * *

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_**B**__**ack To The Future** homages, **Yellow Fever** rants, **gag reel** face-offs, **It's A Terrible Life** office supplies, **Mystery Spot** bathroom confessions, **Nightmare** attempts to avoid talking about dreams, **Pilot** episode one-liners: These are a few of my favourite things. The vodka+cheese taquitos continue to spew forth odd crap in chapter two._


	2. Parte The Seconde: M&Ms

**Parte the Seconde: M&Ms**

**Misunderstandings & Misappropriation**

.

.

Dean opened the motel room door and stopped short. "Whoa," he blinked.

The room had obviously been decorated by someone with less of a penchant and more of a raging life-altering fetish for evergreens, leaves and twigs. The walls were completely camouflaged in greenery and baby branches, the underneath painted much the same. In places it was rather difficult to distinguish the wallpaper from the fake foliage.

Sam bustled in behind him, taking in the room and not even registering the carefully contrived ambiance.

"Move it, dude, c'mon," he tutted, forcing Dean forwards.

Dean directed himself at the nearest bed to the door and dumped his duffle unceremoniously upon it. The Winchesters looked around the room slowly as Sam closed the door behind him with his foot.

"What's with the trees?" Sam finally asked.

Dean snorted in amusement. "What's with _that_?" He crossed the room to the television set, picking up the fold-over advertisement. " 'Hallowe'en Bash, all motel guests invited'," he read. He turned his wrist to check the time. "A day late. Didn't anyone tell them Hallowe'en was yesterday?" he muttered, turning the card so that Sam could see the picture on it. "Check it out - looks like Samhain."

"Didn't we kill that guy?" Sam smiled.

"You Emperor Palpatine'd his ass, yeah," Dean noted uncomfortably.

A low hiss began in the corner of the room. Sam looked in the general direction but Dean did not seem to have heard.

"Even though we had this understanding about you _not_ going Dark Side, right?" Dean continued. "Like the hundreds of other times we had an understanding about you _not_ going Dark Side, which you _also_ ignored."

"Dean, be quiet," Sam urged, trying to hear where the growing noise was coming from. A thin feeling of unease began to permeate his emotional defences.

"Yeah, no, that's fine," Dean shrugged. "You just ignore me and I'll pretend it's all like it was years back, remember?" he said, suddenly clearly, turning to pin Sam with a look that could have wrested the truth from former spy Michael Westen in under a second. "I had the plan, you followed it, monsters got ganked, we moved on, everything was smooth. Remember that, Sammy? Before we found Dad, before it all went FUBAR?"

"Dean, please - be quiet," Sam snapped. A whispering, a rustling--. _Was that movement?_

"Yeah right. You know, I'm getting a little tired of you thinking you can tell me to do _anything_. Lest we forget," he added with painful clarity, the rising hissing sound of wind clearly not registering with him at all, "you just let Lucifer moonwalk his way out of his own personal prison. Now, I am the last person allowed to point fingers here, but I think--"

"Dean!" Sam shouted. "Shut the _hell up!_"

Dean fell silent, caught off guard. But his face pressed the big red emergency button of control and the defences rammed down. First came the eyes, clearing painfully sharp with accusation. Then the eyebrows rammed down while performing their little caterpillar-arching-its-back-in-ultimate-pleasure bending manoeuvre right over his nose. His cheeks suddenly sucked themselves in like a Sergeant Major desperate to look good in a shrunken uniform and his jaw started to stick out in a dangerous warning that should have sounded alarm bells in Sam's head.

And it probably would have - had he been paying attention.

Instead he was raising a hand in a calming gesture, cocking his head to listen to something the identity of which Dean could only guess. The elder Winchester waited, alarmed and confused in equal measure, as Sam turned and looked at the far corner of the room.

"There," he whispered.

Dean looked. The room was as empty as P Diddy's Christmas stocking and he folded his arms, unamused. He looked back at his younger sibling to find him backing up, lifting his arms in fear.

"No, no!" Sam protested, his arms flailing through the air.

Dean's anger melted faster than a Hershey bar in the Impala on a July evening in Louisiana, leaving only concern in the warmed, squishy wrapper holding his emotions together.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, starting toward his sibling.

Sam struggled in the dense, twisting gale. The dust and wind pushed and prodded him, made him lose his balance and grab at the wall for reassurance as to which way was up.

_The room - melting. Time - slipping. No up - down? Down no. Balance no. _Where's the damn room?_ Reach for - get something - touch something - anything. Wind face pain pulling pushing - no - up - _Let me in, let me in_-- _Which way is up?_ Slipping rushing leaving - no - is no - _Can't - find - a--

until

it

all

stopped

Stopped?

_Was there a--? Did I really see a--?_

Sam blinked, rubbing streaming eyes affected by the biting twister. He caught his breath, looking around the room and feeling relief run off him like rain as he saw Dean standing, watching him.

"It's ok," Sam panted, his hands up in a placating gesture. "We're good. It's gone."

He put his hands on his knees, calming himself. Then he realised Dean had not spoken.

He looked up quickly. Dean was staring at him, his face blank, his expression lacking any life whatsoever. He was just…

Standing.

"Dean?" Sam dared. He took a step toward him then stopped short, completely spooked by his brother's deathly stillness. The way Dean was staring, Sam figured he had either been transformed into a leggy six-foot blond centrefold or Dean couldn't actually see anything at all.

Sam edged toward him, getting within reaching distance.

It was then that he noticed Dean's eyes.

Green. Wide. And completely filling the sockets. Not a bit of pupil black or white could be seen, instead the dull green colouring swirling and moving, writhing and re-forming over and over.

The Staring Judge on duty picked up his whistle and a loud blast proclaimed Dean's staring moment over and it became Sam's turn. Given that Dean appeared comfortable enough and seemed either unable or unwilling to try and attack anything, Sam inched closer and put his hand up slowly. He put a single finger out, poking at his brother's shoulder.

Dean swayed backwards with the force before rocking back into place, rather like the world's largest Weeble. The green mist in his eyes continued to flip and billow, oblivious, blown around by some internal storm.

"Um…" Sam's brain ran upstairs to the loft, searching through packing crates of interrogatives and storage boxes of clever lines for something decent to say. "Dean?" was all he could come out with, and a part of him slapped a hand at his subconscious' forehead, unimpressed.

But Dean's lips twitched like maggots on a grill. "_Sau_," he breathed.

Sam blinked. "Dean. It's me, it's Sam. Can you hear me?"

"Sau," Dean's mouth repeated. While not his best singing voice, it did have a certain gentle growl to it that Sam had been hitherto unaware Dean could produce, which led him to suspect that it was probably something close to Dean's best Back Seat voice.

"Crap," Sam blurted fearfully, stumbling backwards. He retreated to the duffle on the bed, snatching it up for the salt within. "Dean. Can you hear me?" he cried, wrenching the salt can free and unscrewing it quickly.

He stared at the face of his brother, and with a chilling acceptance quite akin to knowing that that huge snow cloud really _is_ coming your way, realised Dean was no longer in possession of his own body. The emptiness, the blank façade was panic-inducing enough to make Sam flick the hearty chunks of sodium chloride at the front of Dean's shirt.

The rock salt spread over Dean's olive green clothing. While the green appeared to match the strangely calming colour of the breeze that had taken over his eye sockets, the salt did not. It bounced off and was resigned to letting itself fall, ignored and unloved but wholly engrossed in seeking a life more exciting than it ever could have found inside Sam's tin.

"Sau," Dean's mouth whispered.

"Who are you?" Sam demanded, a strange tickling feeling reassuring him that, despite all appearances, he was not actually in any danger.

"Sau Uentouicion, heistigin liomou," came the soft reply.

"Ok… you're not attacking, you're talking," Sam observed. He swallowed and put down the salt can slowly, staring at the shell of his brother. "So… talk. Whatever you are. Talk to me."

"Sau," was the only response.

Sam blinked. "'Sau'? Or 'sound'? You keep saying it," he pointed out. Dean did not move. "Sau?" Sam repeated, his hands up in clear confusion.

Dean's head tilted slightly, then straightened.

"Sau Uentouicion," Dean's mouth said, his hand coming up and pointing at Sam. Then it turned and touched at Dean's shirt. "Denu Uentouicion," he added slowly.

"You're really _not_ Dean," Sam whispered. "But you don't seem to want to hurt me or him, so…"

His eyes ran round the room faster than Usain Bolt doing a one hundred metre dash to the ice-cream counter, until they tripped headlong over his laptop. He looked back at the body of his brother, backing away with his hands up.

"Sau Uentouicion," came the soft but urgent utterance.

"Ok, right, wait just a moment there," Sam said calmly. "I don't understand what you're saying, so…" He turned and slowly picked up the laptop, opening it. "I'm going to go on the names you've called us and work out what language it is you're using."

Dean didn't move. The lack of motion was disturbing. Sam swallowed and willed the laptop to start up faster than it had ever done before.

"Sau Uentouicion, heistigin liomou," Dean's occupant had him repeat quietly. "Nyiu nearitto ge cr li cheioulei."

"Yeah? Great," Sam nodded helpfully.

The room: quiet, still, frozen. The brothers: watching each other, neither blinking. The laptop: starting up, conscious it was causing a heavy, dark silence of trepidation in one of the men.

At last the Windows machine was ready and Sam set it down on the table, connecting to the internet. He lifted a finger at Dean. "Sau?" he asked, looking at him. "Sau and Denu?"

Dean's head nodded once.

Sam typed fast, choosing his most reliable ancient language database from the hordes of favourites already bookmarked in his web browser. He bit his lip. "Come on, come on," he urged, watching the Windows egg-timer icon give him The Hand. He turned his head and looked at 'Dean' quickly. The body of Dean Winchester just stood and watched, unblinking, as if expecting Sam to pull a rabbit from his thick mop of hair.

Sam looked back at the laptop. He got his list of results, which was decidedly shorter than he had hoped to the tune of a single option.

"Crap," he cursed. He tried the next search engine and frowned at the long list of websites containing gibberish and looked up again. "Sau and Denu what? Ooowen-what?"

"Sau Uentouicion. Denu Uentouicion," Dean's voice rumbled.

"Right. Hang on. I'm guessing that means Winchester so I'm going to…" He typed it in and pressed 'search'. "Oh." He mumbled the single result quickly. "… 'This second name derives from an otherwise unrecorded Brittonic _Uentouicion_, which would represent a colloquial Latin _Ventouicium_, 'Venta town'. This is usually assumed to have been 'Winchester'.'" He looked up slowly. "So… Latin. Holy crap - Latin? You're a little older than I thought."

"Heistigin liomou Denu Uentouicion," was his soft reward.

Sam waved a hand at him. "Say that again. Again."

Dean's head tilted slightly. His boots took a silent step toward the younger hunter and Sam watched, a little apprehensive.

"Ah… So whatever you're speaking, you might recognise Latin? Ah… Reddo," he said smartly.

Dean's misted eyes didn't blink, but the head straightened. It froze for a long moment. Then the mouth dropped open. "Heistigin liomou Denu Uentouicion."

"Hee-ish-tij-in lee-oh-mo-oo?" Sam hazarded.

Dean's head tilted slightly again. Sam nodded. "Ok, hang on, _Denu_," he dared, typing at the laptop. "And here we go--." He pressed the 'search' button. "What the--? No results?" He tried again, widening the search parameters to those including drunken approximations of base phonetics. The single result was astounding. "It means 'listen to me'? It's… a variation of Gaelic? Well why the--." He stopped and thought about it. "Latin. Gaelic. Probably… much older than modern Gaelic… Is that why I couldn't find it anywhere?"

He scrolled down the webpage. He found what he wanted and mouthed the words to himself carefully. "Ok, let's just hope you can catch my meaning from modern Gaelic. 'Who are you'," he muttered, standing straight and looking at his brother. "Cod is ann'um dwit?" he asked clearly.

Dean's chin lifted slightly as he apparently considered something. "Cadou i aiounm duit…" he repeated slowly. He lifted a finger, pressing into Dean's shirt. "Denu Uentouicion."

"No no no - you're not Dean, you're _borrowing_ Dean," he said patiently. "And you have no idea what I'm saying, do you?" He looked back at the laptop, reading quickly. "On will bear-lah ah-gut?"

"Bearla?" Dean echoed. He turned from Sam, walking across the room, his head turning to look left and right as if he expected to be jumped by the ancient ninjas of misinterpretation at any moment. Eventually he stopped and Sam waited, hoping against hope. Dean turned slowly, regarding Sam with slightly slanted eyebrows that were the first sign of the unidentified visitor being able to control the borrowed face.

"Bearla," Sam said hopefully. "English."

"Ni thuigim," Dean's controlling force admitted quietly.

Sam sighed and turned back to his laptop. "Nee higg im," he mouthed, typing it in. He read the translation. "You don't understand? You don't recognise English? Well this is going to be the longest conversation in history if I have to translate every line you say and then every line _I_ say," he pointed out.

Dean's green apertures of clouded peace simply watched.

"I don't speak Gae--." Sam shook his head and tapped at the laptop again. "Neel gale geh mot ah gum," he read out slowly.

Dean's head tilted the other way as his swirling virescent eyes conveyed complete contempt without even trying. Sam held his hands up in surrender.

"Look, there must be some way you… can…" His voice trailed away as Dean advanced on him suddenly with a purpose. Sam backed up one. "I didn't think you were here to hurt anyone," he managed as Dean stopped barely a foot away from him.

The whirling green dervishes replacing Dean's eyes peered into Sam's. Then a hand came up and a single finger approached Sam's face. He looked at it nervously.

"Not my eye!" he said quickly. "I swear to God, Dean, if this is all a prank and you're just poking me in the eye I am so gonna--"

But the finger touched Sam's forehead and stopped.

Sam breathed out. "Ok then, if you're Castiel and you're playing a prank cos Dean made you, I am gonna kick _both_ your little six foot asses when all this is over," he blustered.

Dean's face didn't move a single muscle. The finger pressed harder at Sam's forehead.

"What are you doing?" he asked quickly.

Dean's finger pressed harder.

"Ow! What are you doing?"

The finger began to shake slightly, Dean's face starting to look slightly red. His nose twitched as his breathing hitched and quickened abruptly.

"Stop it," Sam ordered, putting his hand up. He grasped his brother's wrist but couldn't move it. "Stop!" he shouted.

Dean's entire arm was now shaking with exertion. His face was strained and red, the tendons standing out in his neck. But still the expression was blank despite the panicked breathing.

"Stop!" Sam shouted. "You're hurting him! Stop!" He struggled and pulled, to no avail. "_Siste!_" he shouted. "_Desino!_"

.

* * *

**Twitter** campaigns, proper old **Star Wars**, **Burn Notice**, kids' toys, Olympic winners, ancient language reference books and gag reels. Throw them all in and mix well. Add vodka and cheese taquitos. Remove when mixture has lumped itself together. Have revered Wiccan check details. Correct, paste and serve.


	3. Parte The Thirde: aurais dû vu

**Parte The Thirde: aurais-dû-vu**

'_It's The Great Pumpkin, Sau Uentouicion_'. Four was scored while seven was slighted.

.

.

Dean's finger lifted abruptly, Sam's double hold on his wrist about as commanding as a parking ticket on the Impala.

Dean's breathing began to return to normal, his hand dropping. Sam stared into the featureless eye sockets, watching the whirling green blow around inside. He swallowed, suddenly and completely creeped out.

Dean took a step back. His expression blank, his manner ambivalent, once again he was simply stood in silence.

Sam pushed himself off the wall. He pulled his shirt straight, clearing his throat to the brief accompaniment of a jut of the chin.

"Who are you?" Sam said clearly. "And don't say you're Dean."

Dean's face tilted upwards as if he were reading something written on the ceiling. It looked back down at Sam. "Borrow yes Denu," the visitor allowed.

"_Now_ you speak English?" Sam gasped. "Why didn't you just--"

Dean's finger raised meaningfully. "Learn done."

"_That's_ what you just did? You sucked how to speak English out of my head?" Sam guessed. He rubbed at his forehead quickly. "Right. Whatever." He cleared his throat again. "Who _are_ you?"

"No."

"No?" Sam repeated, and if being unimpressed were an Oscar category, Sam would have collected a Lifetime Achievement statuette right there and then. The room was silent as the two of them just regarded each other. Sam took a deep breath, thinking. "Right… You're _not_." Another long pause. "You're not… a 'who'. Ok then… _What_ are you?"

"Sau'win," came the immediate response.

"Say again?"

"Sau'win."

Sam turned back to his laptop but Dean put a hand up, grasping his wrist. He waved their two hands at the room around them.

"End," he said clearly. "Beltane… no. Sau'win… now." He turned, waving their hands, and Sam realised he was directing them at the greenery on the walls.

"Beltane?" Sam said suddenly. "Beltane?" He pulled his wrist free, going back to his laptop and typing it in. He looked up quickly, surprised. "You come after Beltane?"

Dean's head tilted and the visitor within appeared to be considering something.

"Beltane goes, you come next?" Sam tried again.

"Beltane no. Sau'win now," Dean nodded slowly.

"I know who you are! Or _what_ you are! You're Samhain!"

Dean's roiling eyes just stared, his head swaying to tilt the other way.

"Samhain - you're the demon that appears after Beltane," Sam urged fearfully.

"Beltane no. Sau'win now," Dean's growled voice insisted.

"Yes, that's what I said," Sam snapped, alarmed. "But I don't get this… Why are you here? You're obviously not the demon guy we killed - you're not the one who was one of Lucifer's seals, right?"

"Kill." The word rolled around Dean's mouth, as if whatever was controlling him were trying it on for size. "Kill no. Demon no. Understand no."

Sam huffed, then raised his hands in surrender. "Are you Samhain?"

"Sam… Hayyne?" Dean lips echoed, apparently about as lost as several penguins wandering aimlessly round a supermarket, not even close to the frozen fish department and unable to comprehend the concept of finding fish without water anyway.

"Samhain. God of Death," Sam nodded.

"God… no. Sam Hayyne… no," Dean's voice rumbled, sounding confused and perhaps just a touch affronted.

"But you come after Beltane, right?"

"Beltane no. Sau'win now." Dean's head nodded.

"Yeah yeah, so you said," he rattled off. He huffed, putting his hands on his hips. "So if you're not Samhain, then--"

"Sau'win," Dean's voice interrupted.

"Excuse me?"

"Sau'win," Dean's user allowed, inclining the head slightly. He looked at Sam again, lifting his finger to point. "Sau Uentouicion. Sau," he said clearly, before pointing to his own chest. "Sau'win."

"Sau is spelt 'Sam'?" he realised. "So you _are_ Samhain?"

"Sam Hayyne no. Sau'win," Dean's occupant said patiently.

"Samhain."

"Sau'win."

"Samhain."

"Sau'win."

"Sam--. Look, we could do this all afternoon. Come here, look at this." He waved to his brother's body, backing up to the table and the laptop. He leant over, typing quickly.

Dean's body walked up to his side, the head tilting down to look at the screen. "Light book," the quiet voice commented.

"_Note_book," Sam corrected, but Dean's hand came out and waved across the screen slowly.

"Light." His hand stopped in the middle of the screen, the fingers spreading as wide as they would go. He appeared to freeze for a long moment. "No," he judged suddenly.

"No what?"

"No," Dean's Captain within managed, confused. "Sau is. Denu is. This… light. No."

Sam's immense intellect leapt into the ring, grappling with the huge wrestling problem made up of ambiguity and mistranslation. They grunted and wrenched, pushing and heaving to try to dominate the other. Finally Sam slammed the problem to the mat and held him down, the countdown slowly revealing the solution to the conundrum.

"It's not alive," he realised. "It's just electrical power, not real life. Wow," he blinked, regarding the side of his brother's head with respect. "You can tell that by waving your hand over it?"

"Is no." He stood straight again, folding his arms in a way that almost made Sam believe that the real Dean was back in his own body. "Give eyes."

"I'm going to assume that means you want to see," Sam said, enlarging the words on the screen. "See this? S-a-m-h-a-i-n," he spelt. "Samhain. That's you."

Dean's hands dropped. His right one flew up behind Sam and cracked him smartly over the back of the head. Sam jumped and looked at him quickly.

"Dean!" he accused.

"Sau eyes no," Dean's voice said calmly, as if the attached body hadn't just abused the younger Winchester. "This no."

"I have no idea--"

"Sau. Eyes," came the order, pointing at the laptop again.

Sam rubbed the back of his head, pouting as he followed his finger. Dean's hand opened and slid down the screen, barely an inch away from the surface. The internet pages flicked faster and faster on the screen, millions of words and images being rifled through at incredible speed. At last they stopped and Sam eyed his brother's user.

"Begin now. Sau eyes no," Dean's voice said, and this time the contempt was palpable.

"At the beginning? I'm not looking?" Sam guessed.

He turned to look at the webpage in front of him and his face paled as he recognised the _Wikipedia_ format and icon.

He cleared his throat and began to read: "Samhain, pronounced… /ˈsɑːwɪn/, /ˈsaʊ.ɪn/, or /ˈsaʊn/ in English… from Irish samhain [ˈsˠaunʲ], cf. Scottish Gaelic samhainn [ˈsavɯɲ], Old Irish samain [ˈsaṽɨnʲ] "summer's end", from sam "summer" and fuin "end"… is a festival held at the end of the harvest season in Gaelic and Brythonic cultures. The festival has aspects of a festival of the dead. Many scholars believe that it was the beginning of the Celtic year."

He looked up at Dean slowly. "Oh. Yeah. Sau eyes no," Sam agreed, feeling about as tall as an ant who had had an unfortunate run-in with a small child and as a consequence no longer possessed any legs.

Dean's body took a soft step back.

"So you're Sau'win," Sam said slowly. "But why are you here?"

"Sau," Sau'win nodded with Dean's head. "Beltane no. Sau'win now. Sau," he added, pushing a finger into Sam's arm, "still Beltane. Beltane no. Move."

"What?" Sam asked, his face screwed up like yesterday's newspaper in abject confusion.

"Sau still Beltane. Denu Sau'win. Sau move. Sau move Sau'win, Denu. Nyiu nearitto ge cr li cheioulei," he said calmly, the face impassive.

Sam bent to the laptop again. "You've said that before, right? Say it again." He looked up when he was met with silence. "Again, please."

"Nyiu nearitto ge cr li cheioulei."

"Nyee-oo nee-hyart-to guh curr leh kay-yee-uu-lah," Sam echoed, typing slowly. He stood, waiting for the search results. "Nearest is 'ni neart go cur le cheile' - 'there is no strength without unity'."

Sau'win lifted Dean's hand but pointed it at the floor. "Sau Beltane. Move no. Denu Sau'win, move done."

Sam looked at him for a long moment. "Unity. Beltane comes before Samhain--"

Dean's hand shot up and again slapped across the back of Sam's head.

"Alright! Ok! Sau'win!" he protested, rubbing at his head to ease the feel of impact. "Beltane comes first--"

"End."

"What?"

"Beltane end. Sau'win begin."

Sam thought back to the _Wikipedia_ page. "Sau'win was the beginning of the year. Beltane was at the end of the _previous_ year… Sau is _in_ Beltane?" he asked carefully.

"Sau Beltane." Sau'win had Dean point his finger at him, nodding. "Denu move done. Denu Sau'win."

"So… I'm in last year and Dean's in next year?" he hazarded. "Unity. Oh, _unity_!" Sam gasped, the penny suddenly dropping. "I'm stuck in the past, Dean has _moved on_? We're not together?"

"Sau Beltane. Denu Sau'win," the occupant had Dean nod slowly. "Nyiu nearitto ge cr li cheioulei."

"Yeah, I get it," Sam smiled, snorting with bemusement as he looked at his feet. "You want me to move on, to get over it and everything that's happened this year? You want Dean and me to be on the same page?"

Dean's head tilted and Sam sighed.

"Sau moves to Sau'win, to be with Denu? Sau and Denu in Sau'win?" he asked clearly.

"Sau Denu," Sau'win nodded. "Nyiu nearitto ge cr li cheioulei."

"Thanks, man," Sam allowed, wandering over and sitting heavily in the wooden chair by the door. Sau'win, in Dean's body, turned to watch him go, apparently prepared to wait all evening.

Sam leaned back in the chair, exhausted and not really knowing how to feel about the day so far. It struck a tiny part of his brain that perhaps it was all a dream, and any moment now Bobby Ewing would appear from the shower and then Sam could realise he was watching a badly-scripted TV show. He looked over at Dean, who was still watching him with green ghiblis for eyes.

"Sau'win?" he ventured. Dean's head swayed to a slight incline. "Sit."

Dean backed up slowly, not even looking as he lowered himself to the bed behind him.

"Ok. Question. Why are you here?"

"Sau and Denu in Sau'win," Sau'win said patiently.

"Darmok and Jalad at Tanagra?" Sam smiled ruefully. "Dean would be so proud of me for coming out with _that_ one," he added to himself. "Can Dean hear us, by the way? Can he see what's happening here?"

"Denu time no."

"No time?"

"Time move no. Denu move no. Denu time no."

"I'll take that to mean time isn't moving for him, like he's stuck in a moment," Sam judged. "You _are _going to give him back, right?"

Dean's head bowed forward slightly, then lifted to readjust the misty gaze. "Give yes. Sau'win take no. Sau'win keep no. Give Denu, yes."

"That's a relief," Sam smiled ruefully. He leaned a hand on his knee, dropping his right elbow on the other one and letting himself list forwards. "Why do you want Sau and Denu both in Sau'win?" he asked clearly.

"Sau no. Sau in Beltane. Sau move must." Dean lifted a finger and pressed at his own shirt front. "Worry."

"You worry about me?" he asked. "You? Sau'win? Or… Dean?" he asked.

Dean's finger tapped his front again. "Denu anger. Move to… care no. Denu care no. Only tired."

Sam looked down forlornly. "You're saying Dean used to be angry with me, but now he just doesn't care any more?"

Sau'win nodded Dean's head once.

"That's cos… Well, long story. I did something bad. Very bad." He sighed, shaking his head. "The worst thing."

"Sau free light."

Sam looked up slowly. "Yes, I freed Lucifer. Go on, smite me or punish me or whatever. That's why you're really here, right? If you're a season and you're the start of the year, you're pissed with me for bringing on the destruction of the world."

Sau'win tilted Dean's head to one side. Sam waited, but there was nothing forthcoming. They looked at each other in silence.

"Sau free light," Sau'win ventured again.

"Yes, I said yes," he snapped, frustrated. "It was me, alright?"

"Sau free light. Now," Sau'win ordered in Dean's voice.

"I told you, I already did!" he cried angrily. "And what business is it of yours, anyway? Why do you care?"

"Sau," Sau'win said patiently. "Sau… Sam. Sau Uentouicion. Sam Winchester. Sau'win. Sam Hayyne."

"What?" he demanded. "Can you just say what you mean?"

"Light book," Dean said, pointing to the laptop. "Sam Hayyne no, Sau'win yes. Sam Winchester no, Sau Uentouicion yes."

Sam's eyes followed his finger, then he looked back at the body of his brother, and his expressionless face, for a long time, thinking.

"Sam is 'sau'," he nodded, the idea still turning cartwheels in his huge brain. "We have the same name? You care because we have the same name?"

"Sau," Sau'win nodded. "Sau. Season. Light. Warm."

"Season… Sau'win is the end of summer… 'Sau' is summer? I'm summer?" Sam guessed slowly.

Sau'win nodded Dean's head. "Denu season no. Denu down, under, between. Two and high, Denu trapped inside."

Sam's face paled. "What? Dean's stuck somewhere?"

"Two and high," Sau'win repeated patiently, "two and high. Under and steady. Denu dark. Denu cold. Denu season no. Denu place."

"Two and high… trapped between two high places? Like… mountains?" Sam reasoned. Sau'win nodded once. Sam got up, crossing to the laptop. "Between two places… Sau is summer, and that's a season. Denu is a place between two high places. Denu is dark and cold, between two high places…" He tapped at the laptop keys, finding the word he wanted. "Valley. 'Denu' means valley," he sighed. He turned to look at the seated brother, studying him.

"Sau warm. Denu cold. Sau heart. Denu rock. Warm no, then cold no. Sau and Denu in Sau'win," Sau'win said wisely.

Sam ran a hand through his hair, stumbling back to the chair and dropping into it as if it were filled with feathers. Much to his backside's annoyance, it was not.

"You can't have one without the other?" Sam hazarded. "So no matter what we do, no matter where we go, we'll always end up together?"

Dean didn't move.

"No?" Sam asked, alarmed.

Dean didn't move.

"Hey, Sau'win, come on, man. What?"

"Sau free light," Sau'win said quietly.

"Yeah, we went over this," he sighed. "I did that already."

"Sau free light Denu. Denu ears no. Sau free light Denu," was the soft response.

"I don't understand!" Sam cried helplessly. "I don't get what you're--"

"Sau free light Denu. Now," Sau'win repeated. He pushed Dean to his feet slowly and took a single step toward the youngest Winchester. "Sau free light Denu. _Now_."

.

* * *

***aurais-dû-vu (noun): the feeling that this was how it should have been seen.**

_Wikipedia entry was cut and pasted. Oh Sam, we were all so disappointed (in that frightfully British way) with your pronunciation. How could Sam ever have got that wrong? He must have read something as simple as Wikipedia first, right? Right? RIGHT? (I know Wikipedia is nowhere near the b-all and end-all of confirmed facts, but in this case, it has been confirmed by more than one person I hold as 'expert'.)_

Please forgive what must look like arrogance on my part - I love Sam to bits. BUT REALLY? #ResearchFail


	4. Parte The Fourthe:

**Parte the Fourthe: New Adventures in Winchesterville**

_Or 'How I Learned To Stop Emo'ing Out And Get On With It'_

.

.

Dean's body walked across the room, towering over the seated Sam, staring down at him. The green clouds that apparently acted as eyes swirled faster, choppier.

"Look, I don't know what you want!" Sam cried angrily.

"Sau free light Denu. _Now_," the force controlling Dean ordered.

"I did! I let Lucifer go! It's done!"

"_Light_," Sau'win said more loudly. "Sau say no. Denu ears no. Sau say Denu."

Sam froze, pondering the new arrangement of words. He put a hand up slowly, waving Dean back. Dean did not move.

"Wait, wait," Sam breathed, "let me think here…"

He swallowed and got up out of his chair slowly, putting distance between himself and the body of his brother. But Dean turned and followed him as if somehow concerned he could disappear.

"Right. This 'light' - it's not Lucifer. Right?"

"Is no."

"Light is… light is… C'mon, Sam, think," he hissed at himself. "Light, brightness, white, clean, innocent, truth - _truth_," he gasped. He looked at his possessed brother. "Right, ok. So then… I didn't say something, Dean didn't hear me say it, I have to tell him something."

"Sau say no. Denu ears no. Sau say Denu," Sau'win repeated, nodding steadily.

Sam's shoulders drooped like a tonne of sakura descending upon Ueno Park. "You don't know my brother, do you? I mean, you're in there, but you have no idea how much he hates _talking_ to people."

"Sau say Denu." The greenness stared at him without mercy.

"Tell him what?" Sam asked. "This is all some nasty, whacked-out dream and I am getting really tired of you telling me what to d--."

and

there

it

was

A flickering, overly coloured Super-8 of his life, blurry in places but no less damning than the Zapruder film. Sam ducked to prevent obscuring the title card for patrons behind him in the huge movie theatre, finding the middle seat in the middle row and folding himself into it as low as he could.

He watched, open mouthed, as pictures of himself, his early life, his brother, were splayed twenty feet wide across the screen for all to see.

Sam, a gangly little boy, Dean pushing his shoulder, telling him to get in Dad's car. Sam a little older, Dean picking up his school bag for him and telling him to hurry up and get to class. Sam as a young man, Dean telling him to be home way after midnight. Sam, eyes black and intentions sliding down a long, slippery slope, Dean telling him to listen to him and stay away from demons and Rubys and blood and…

Suddenly he wanted it all to stop. Suddenly he wanted the film stock to be torn from the projector, salted and burnt.

He stared at the screen, unable to look away from the car crash of his life, knowing the film had looped and was playing the broken images of them as young boys over again. He watched himself being told by Dean to get out of bed. He watched himself being told by Dean to stay away from the top magazine rack in 7-11 until he was old enough to reach it. He watched himself be told to stay out of the liquor store so Dean could go in and get beer. He let his shoulders relax as he watched himself creep round a doorjamb, a baseball bat in his hands, until Dean jumped him. He watched Dean tell him Dad was out on a hunting trip and hadn't returned. He watched himself argue with Dean about going after him.

And he smiled.

The film stopped. The theatre was silent.

But Sam smiled.

He got up to leave - and was painfully aware he was in the motel room, watching the body of his brother stare at him with the patience of ages.

"Sau'win," he said softly, hurt and relief and pain and gladness all thrown together in his head.

"Sau."

Sam blinked, realising his eyes were a little too moist. He put a hand up, wiping his left quickly and drawing in a deep breath.

"I can't do what you want. I can't ever get over this year. Or last year. Or the last four years. But… If you want me to tell Dean I just want it back like it was… I just want everything to be… No. I want _us_ to be… good. Then… I can do that," he whispered.

Dean's hand lifted and it set itself on Sam's taller shoulder lightly.

"Sau in Beltane. Sau move now," was the soft advice.

Sam smiled, wiping at his other eye and sniffing, straightening his back.

and

it

all

came

crashing

down

A tide of guilt drew back from the shore, building a huge swell that overcame the beach's defences. Culpability lashed down in a gigantic outpouring of grief and loss, guilt and shame, wracking the coastline of his soul with alarming ease. Every single moment of guilt he had felt since unwittingly releasing the fallen angel, every strand of anger at having been duped so easily, everything rose up and let itself be fed through the wringer of perspective, driven by the hold on his shoulder by an ancient force who had hijacked his brother's body to bring it about.

He felt every moment over again, received every stinging glare from his brother over again, let the shock and anger buffet him over again. Everything he had tried to dampen, everything he had attempted to suppress, everything he had been desperate to ignore just so he could sleep, could eat, could function, could walk next to his brother and not curl up in pain at feeling unworthy to share the pavement with… All of it hit him all over again.

He opened eyes that had closed without asking his permission or input beforehand. He saw the whirling, coalescing green in the eyes that should have been his brother's. He studied the face, noting its utter blankness and remarking how, even though Dean sometimes tried to render his face expressionless - more and more often these days when Sam mentioned the wrong word - it would and could never look as lifeless as it did now.

"Sau and Denu, bad no. Sau and Denu, same yes. Sum-mer and vall-ey need same. Leave vall-ey in no sum-mer? No." Sau'win produced the words quietly, carefully.

"I get it," Sam said, his voice shrinking from its responsibility and barely managing a whisper. "We can't be like we were… But that's ok because…"

"Sau eyes yes," Sau'win had Dean enunciate clearly. "Sau say."

"All those times… All those times we were thinking it was tough, it was nasty and it sucked. We were always looking to the future, always thinking one day we'd have good days, good times," Sam whispered hoarsely. He looked at his feet, smiling abruptly. Dean's head tilted but he didn't speak. "We never realised… Those _were_ the good times. _These_ are the good times, man. Today, now. We just never saw it. We battle on day after day, cursing and grumbling about our job, our duty, the fact we can't just walk away. But…"

He looked up, studying the empty face watching him with windows onto green clouds.

"Dean and I haven't been right for a while. And no matter what else happens to us, that's always been the most important thing. At least to me. Maybe Dean's stopped caring cos I've been such an ass recently. But I can change that. I can change _us_." He swallowed. "I can do that, can't I?"

"Everything yes. Time yes."

"It's not about going back to what I thought we were - it's about being something new. We can do this. _I_ can do this," Sam urged.

"Want?"

"I _need_ to."

A weighty silence rumbled over the room, suppressing everything but the feelings Sam tried desperately to process. He was aware that something had changed; he was aware that something had become clearer; he was aware that something had fought its way to the surface of his conscious mind.

He was aware that something was prodding at his front. He blinked, bringing himself back to the moment.

"Sau in Sau'win," Sau'win said, nodding the elder Winchester's head, letting the hand it was controlling drop.

They regarded each other for a long moment.

"We aren't… really here, right?" Sam dared. "This is a dream?"

Sau'win leaned Dean's head into a tilt. "Is. Here. Now."

"Right," Sam grinned. "Whatever. So what do we do now? How do I get Dean back?"

"Sau say, Denu ears. All 'back'," Sau'win replied slowly.

"No, I meant…" Sam scratched his head, thinking. "I don't know if I believe you came here because you wanted me to emo-out over this, or because you somehow need me and Dean to work together because it serves your purpose in the grand scheme of things. And you know what? Part of me really doesn't care. But I do know I need Dean back now - and you're in his body. How do you return Dean to his body?"

Dean's boots stepped back steadily and Sam watched him with caution. The older man backed up to the bed, and then his eyes closed for the first time since the force of winter had taken up possession.

and

then

as

if

he

had

never

been

interrupted

Dean took a deep breath and his eyes snapped open, as his finger came up to point.

"--But I'm still older and I still know better!" he cried angrily. "You see what happens when you choose some demonic skank over… your… brother…" Dean came to a hesitant stop, aware Sam was staring at him with a grin that could have put Cookie Monster to shame. "What?"

Sam threw his arms out wide in helplessness, grinning madly at his brother's eyes - white balls with green surrounds and definitely black pupils sitting there like cherries on a pair of Knickerbocker Glories, bought for two young lads sitting in the diner while their father ate pie and watched them fondly, gruffly pretending he was doing nothing of the sort.

"You're right, man," Sam chuckled. "You are so right."

"I am?" Dean dared. "Why? How?" he demanded, his face dark with suspicion.

Sam marvelled at the life in his brother's face compared to just a few moments ago. He couldn't help staring at the tiny movements and fluidity of Dean's changing expressions.

"Cos you're older," Sam grinned. "And you've been telling me what to do all my life. And the one time I didn't listen, I got what I deserved. I just inflicted my mistake on everyone else."

"Yeah," Dean agreed harshly. "So… like… you should try… listening to me…" he managed, but his bluster was wilting under Sam's amusement. "What?" he demanded, his voice high and baffled.

Sam laughed. "Nothing. It's fine. _I'm over it_," he smiled.

"You're what?"

"You ah… You hungry?"

"What?" Dean blinked, his personal radio tuner frantically scanning all FM frequencies in a hasty attempt to somehow find the one Sam must have been using.

"Hungry. Are you?" Sam tried again.

"Ye-ah," Dean said slowly, cautiously.

"Good. Let's get pie. I'm buying," Sam nodded.

"Sammy, we just got here," he said.

"I've been here for over an hour."

"We just walked in--." Dean let his head drop and then looked up at his younger sibling. "I give up. Do whatever," he shrugged, and all the evidence Sam ever needed to prove to himself that Dean no longer regarded Sam Winchester a matter of personal importance was written all over his uncaring face.

"Dean," Sam said quietly.

The elder Winchester blinked guiltily, avoiding Sam's gaze.

"Dean," Sam said again. "I know you don't care. I know what I've done. But… You think I just want it to be like it was."

Now Dean's eyes turned and latched onto Sam's like a leopard dragging its dinner up into a tree.

"Yeah? Well it _can't_," he snapped.

Sam bit his lip for a moment. "I know. So let's not dwell on it. Let's do something else."

Dean's eyes narrowed but Sam made himself straighten.

"I say we get on with it. I'll stop crying about it if you'll stop bitching about it," he said bravely.

"Ok," Dean nodded with due caution and suspicion, "who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"Is that a yes?" Sam demanded.

The silence hung in the room, watching the two of them with unadulterated enjoyment. It clasped its hands together in barely-contained excitement, willing someone - anyone - to answer.

It was Dean. "Do I get pie if it is?"

"I get your pie if it's not."

"Then it's a yes."

Dean watched him for another long moment of silent reflection before shrugging and shaking his head at it all. "Whatever, man," he allowed gruffly.

A giant surge of hope burned brightly within Sam Winchester, caused by the glimmer of affectionate teasing in his elder brother's voice. For barely a second he had heard it; _And if I heard it, I can make it happen again_, he vowed.

They moved to the motel door before Dean stopped and rubbed a hand over his olive green shirt. "Where did that come from?" he asked himself, patting and jerking the heavier shirt and t-shirt underneath. Salt fell to the motel carpet, giggling to itself in much the same way as teenagers buying beer with fake IDs.

"Occupational hazard?" Sam offered with a shrug of the shoulders than would have easily trumped everyone, had there been an Oscar for Best Portrayal Of Innocence (When You're On Thin Ice category).

Dean 'hmm'ed, apparently found it unworthy of any more attention, and put his hand out, opening the door. "You seriously buying pie?" he grunted.

"Yup. Make the most of it."

"Is this some Samhain prank?"

Sam's hand came up and slapped at the back of Dean's head.

"Hey!" Dean protested.

"Sau'win," came Sam's smug correction.

"Who-in?"

"I'll explain later," Sam grinned.

They walked outside and Sam stopped. Dean turned to watch him take a deep breath.

"Come on, Ferris Bueller, life ain't moving so fast right now. Pie, dude, pie."

"Can't you feel that? A new season," Sam grinned. He let the breath out slowly with obvious enjoyment. "A new year."

"A new year? Sammy, it's November first, remember? Yesterday was Hallowe'en?" Dean prompted.

"No. Yesterday was Beltane. Today is Sau'win."

"Freak," Dean snorted. But then he paused, looking around. "You know, today _has_ kinda gone ok," he allowed. Then a fledgling smile spread its wings over his face and he patted Sam's shoulder. "Come on, Sammy. Today is a good day for pie."

"Yup," Sam nodded. "Sau and Denu in Sau'win."

"Nope," Dean countered, in a way that told his younger brother he either hadn't heard or had chosen not to listen too closely on the basis of not understanding a word he had said, "Sam and Dean in the diner."

"Same-same," Sam grinned.

They turned and walked to the Impala.

"Hey," Sam called across the roof. Dean looked up at him. "You got one of your five albums?"

"The ones you hate cos I play them over and over again?"

"Yeah."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"… Maybe."

"Are you going to sing?"

"Sammy."

"Cos… you can. If you want."

"Ok, stop it. You're creeping me out. I want Sam back."

"Just get in the car."

"Alright dude, but if you've swapped my AC/DC for your Jason Manns I will stop delaying that major beat-down I owe you." Dean paused as Sam very obviously suppressed a guffaw. "What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing, man, nothing," Sam allowed. "It's just that… this _is_ one of the good days after all."

and

then

there

was

.

**again**

.

.

* * *

_**Star Trek**__ metaphors, __**Lazarus Rising**__ and iPods, more __**Yellow Fever**__ rants, calendars and starting points, __**Lucifer Rising**__ and doctor'd phonecalls, new beginnings, new years and no more wibbling. Everything I'd want in the last chapter. Coincidence? __**"I believe in coincidences - coincidences happen every day. But I don't **_**trust**_** coincidences."**_

I really liked this one and I'm sad to see it go. For the first time, I don't have any new projects in pre-production. Time to get my thinking cap on! Thanks for reading, folks - **really** - and I hope some of it made some sense.

Stick a fork in me, it's been grand.


End file.
